


A Time to Remember

by coolbyrne



Series: Cherry Wood and Whiskey [20]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Gibbs' suffers a memory loss, but he's not the only one to feel the painful ramifications. Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: Cherry Wood and Whiskey [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464682
Comments: 47
Kudos: 116





	A Time to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who just re-watched "Hiatus"? :)
> 
> There's a LOT going on here that has been referenced in the "Cherry Wood and Whiskey" series, so I recommend taking some time to go through those stories if you haven't already. (And if you haven't, why haven't you?? Lol!) Everything from the neighbourhood kids to the wooden bench Jack made is referenced here, among a handful of other things as well. Of course it's not necessary to have read them, but it'll help a lot.

It had been 62 days since the blast took away the last two years of his life. Sixty-two days since names, places and faces after 2017 became blank entries in his brain. The doctors told him not to worry; these things took time. He bristled at the placating assurance. What the hell did they know? They were the ones who took her away from him, under the diagnosis that perhaps her presence might have been holding back his progress. That had been 47 days ago and a solid week since he'd last seen or heard from her.

Not that he could blame her; the look in her eyes when he told her he didn't know her would haunt him forever. Deep caramel eyes flinched in pain, a bright smile fell when she realized it wasn't a joke. But she kept on, visiting him every day with photos and memories, of Mexico and snowball fights with neighbourhood kids. She had placed a wedding band in his palm, not forcing the issue, not showing how much it hurt when he didn't put it on. (At least she thought she wasn't showing it. He might have forgotten a lot of things, but reading people wasn't one of them.) He tried it on after she left and he didn't realize he was crying until he felt the tear roll down his cheek, dropping onto the collar of his hospital gown. He wasn't wearing the ring when she had come back the next day- he felt he owed it to her not to pretend or do it half-assed. Her eyes had automatically gone to his hand when she had entered the room, and her eyes had immediately shuttered.

She came every day until the doctor gently suggested she might want to take a break. She had known exactly what he was getting at (apparently, she was some kinda head doctor) and forced him to say it out loud. Her chin raised as the doctor stumbled through his true intent, and he might not have known her, but Gibbs felt a surge of pride at her strength. Still, she abided by the order, showing up less and less. He wondered if she had found the separation a better idea than she had expected, if she felt a sense of relief that she didn't have to spend time with a complete stranger. 

No, he knew that wasn't true. He had heard her quiet sob in his bedroom -their bedroom- when she decided to pack her Army duffel and check into a hotel. _(Army? You fell for Army? Again?)_ Now, 7 days later, he was alone in a house that never seemed so big until she wasn't in it. To escape the space that was all too much and yet somehow claustrophobic at the same time, he went out onto the small porch and sat in a chair that had names of kids 2 years older than he remembered burned into the wood. It matched the picture she had shown of him and a gaggle of kids gathered around the chair. His finger rubbed over the arm where he had scrawled his own name. Apparently it had been a birthday gift to her. Just like the bed had been a gift to her. And the coffee maker he couldn't figure out. He learned about the chair from her, but the other bits of information came from Bishop, the only person he could trust to be his secret information provider, the only person who seemed to know more about them than anyone.

_Them_.

The toothbrush beside his. Four of his USMC shirts in a dresser than definitely wasn't his. A handcrafted wooden bench that he didn't recognize as his work in the basement. She might not have been there, but 'they' were everywhere he looked. Everywhere but in his memory.

"Hey, Mr. Gibbs!" A 16 year old who was still 14 to Gibbs held up a hand and grinned. "Mrs. Gibbs told me to swing by and see how you were doing while she was away on business."

He didn't blame her for the fabrication. "Hey, Nathan."

"Everything good?" he asked, leaning against the fence.

Now it was his turn to lie. "Yep."

"Cool. You coming by the park on Sunday?" 

“Not this weekend, kid. Army/Navy game’s on.”

Nathan beamed. “Will Mrs. Gibbs be back by then? That’s totally her thing! Man, I can’t believe she makes you put up the Army flag for a month when they win.”

For the first time in a long while, Gibbs laughed, because for everything he couldn’t remember, he had no doubt she would absolutely make him do something like that. And he had no doubt he would let her. He shrugged through the tightness in his chest. 

“Remind me to give you some advice about women sometime.”

The teen’s smile remained. “Yes, sir. You sure you don’t need anything?”

The question had a hundred interpretations, but the simple answer was, “No. Thanks, Nathan.”

“Okay. Good luck Sunday!”

His laughter was infectious and Gibbs couldn’t help but join in.

…..

After hanging up on her voicemail 3 times, he finally left a message.

“Hey. Uh,” he rubbed his forehead, “call me.” He heard the words and grimaced at the tone. “I mean, I’d like it if ya called.” Another hesitant second, then, “Please?”

What he couldn’t see was how long it took her to pick up the phone once she saw his name on the caller display. Couldn’t see how she struggled with the simple task of listening to his recorded voice. Couldn’t see that she replayed the message 4 times in the privacy of her car in the parking lot, away from compassionate co-workers who never quite knew where to fall on the line between giving sympathy and giving space. It had been that way for 2 months and she wasn’t sure if it was going to be easier or harder when he finally got cleared to come back to work. What she did know was that the seven days away from him had been the hardest of all, an eternity in a hotel room that was too opulent, too sterile, too empty. She had trusted the doctor’s suggestion (despite thinking it was complete bullshit), if only because she didn’t know what else to do, and seeing those blue eyes look back at her the same way they looked at the barista or the security guard or the mailman was more than she could bear. It had taken her years to get over the horrors of Afghanistan, to let her body heal itself from the physical pain, to work through the night terrors and self-esteem issues. But she was certain she’d never quite stitch her heart together again after this. Seeing his name on the screen brought a familiar joy that quickly came crashing down; hearing his voice proved she was right to listen to it in the car, where the only witness to her tears was the quiet confines.

Touching her eyes with a tissue wad and drawing in some deep breaths ( _‘in through the nose, out through the mouth, come on, you can do this,’_ ) she swiped a thumb across her screen and brought the phone to her ear. 

“Yeah.”

Still the same old Gibbs in so many ways.

“Hey,” she said more brightly than she felt. “Got your message.”

“Hey.” His voice sounded surprised, like he hadn’t checked the caller I.D. “How are ya?”

Despite the heaviness in her lungs, she softly bantered, “Are you trying to small talk me?”

Lured in by her warmth, he huffed out a small laugh. “So that never changed, huh?”

“No. But I’m more than willing to let you try.”

“I might need a raincheck on that.”

“Okay.” The conversation was already twice as long as a Gibbs phone call, but she clung on to his voice like a lifeline.

Perhaps he felt the same, because he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to end it, though he also seemed to be content to listen to her breath. Just when she was about to think they had lost the connection, he coughed.

“Army/Navy this weekend,” he began, the casualness in his voice strained. “Nathan strolled by and gave me the business about it.”

She was pleased to hear the teen had checked in like she had asked. She reminded herself to give him a call, though she wondered how long she could keep up the pretense of being away on business.

“Wondered if you wanted to come over. Watch the game.”

_Looks like the pretense is going to last all of two more days. Way to rip off that scab, Jacqueline._

“You got the Army flag ready?”

“Not gonna need it.”

“Oh, really? Because you’ve needed it for the last 2 years.” The number was a reminder of why they were where they were. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“No,” he said. “If Navy’s been that bad, you got every right to bring it up.”

A laugh escaped her lips and she brought a shaking hand to her eyes, overwhelmed at how easy it seemed to fall back into things, despite everything.

“You’re going to be sorry you said that, Cowboy.”

There was a pause that would have been imperceptible to anyone but her. “Then you might wanna bring some whiskey for me to drown my sorrows in.”

“Buy some steaks and you’re on.”

They shared a comfortable silence, a tentative promise for the future.

“Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“What do I get if Navy wins?”

Leaning back against the headrest, she smiled. “I don’t know. You’ve never won.” A light growl rolled down the line and her smile bloomed into a laugh. “Have that flag ready.”

…..

Despite the banter of their phone conversation, being face to face, up close and personal, was always going to be different, and now, standing on their doorstep ( _his doorstep? A doorstep? What was it when the law said one thing but the heart said another?_ ) she was beginning to feel nauseated. The door opening saved her from vomiting on the porch.

“You okay?” His concern was immediate and strong.

“Yeah, just, I don’t know. Must be something I had for lunch.”

He didn’t believe her, but stepped aside to let her in. “You don’t hafta knock, ya know.”

She stepped in and spoke to her feet. “No, I don’t. Know, I mean.” Her eyes bravely glanced up at his, but quickly went to the living room. “Pre-game blather?” she asked at the quiet TV.

“Overpaid mouthpieces.” He touched between her shoulder blades and was encouraged by the fact she didn’t flinch. Needlessly guiding her to the couch, he kept contact until he couldn’t find an excuse to keep doing it. “Let me grab some glasses.”

“You’ll be drinking out of the bottle by the fourth quarter.”

He turned in the kitchen doorway. “Sloane…,” he warned.

The use of her surname stopped him cold. She pushed aside her own reaction to ask, “Gibbs?”

“Yeah. I…” His brow furrowed in confusion. “I call you that.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“When we’re… close.” 

She flashed an encouraging smile. “Mostly when you’re exasperated at me.”

“No,” he said, finding some solid footing in his voice. “Because I’d be callin’ you that all the time. And this is new.”

Her mouth dropped at his sarcasm. “Oh, it’s on. Get the glasses.”

…..

By the second quarter, she was poking him and doing little dances after every score, and if he were honest, he was almost secretly hoping Army would win. The thought brought a frown line between his eyes.

“Oh, it’s just a game, Cowboy. A game you’re getting your ass kicked in, but still.”

“You trash talked me in a text.”

The seemingly random comment wasn’t so random once she put a memory to it.

“Yes. I was in California.”

His eyes raised to the Rorschach hanging in the enclave across the dining room table. “That’s where that came from.” Seeing her frown, he quickly corrected, “Not California. It came from you coming back from California.”

She swallowed her hope, refusing to let it come to the surface. “You were sleeping in my office because of a hard case.”

He stared into a middle distance. “Don’t remember that. I just remember…” He squinted his eyes shut. “We kissed.”

She didn’t dare touch him, but she moved closer. “When I came back the second time, yes. It was before…”

He glanced at her left hand and tugged it free from her right. “Before we got married.”

“Yes.” 

The word was quiet and heartbreaking, and he raised a hand to brush back the hair that had fallen forward. She angrily wiped away the tears.

“Tell me,” he said.

Lifting her head, she looked at the TV, the game long forgotten. “You remember Tim and Ellie and Nick and Ducky and Palmer and Leon and…” The steam in her voice trailed off. “You remember all of that, but you don’t remember how much I love you.”

The words barely had the strength to reach his ears but the weight of them hit him right in the gut. He brushed her hair back again, but this time curled his fingers behind her ear, gently tilting her face to him. He waited for her eyes to meet his.

"I don't need to remember, Jack. I _know_. I know it." 

As he often did, he struggled for the right words, but those seemed to work because her lips were nearly on his when she hesitated. He didn't make her wait long.

For the briefest of moments, it all felt new and the blood rushed to his head at the sensation. But just as quickly, it was replaced with something else, a familiarity that washed over him and lit a fire in his chest. Her mouth under his felt… right, and her hands curled over his shoulders like they were molded to fit. _Everything_ about her seemed to be made as the perfect balance to him. Her softness, her curves, her patience. He had none of those things, pulling her in hard against his mouth that suddenly remembered everything. His fingers threaded through hair that begged to be touched and he knew exactly how it would feel. Her soft moan was as familiar as an old song and he hummed along. It was only when he could taste her tears that he pulled away.

She reached up to wipe her cheek and to turn away, but his hand was quicker. 

“Don’t cry, Sunrise.”

Her head lifted towards his words, her eyes wide and glistening. “What did you say?”

The name meant something to her, and hearing it out loud created a cascade of snapshots in his memory.

“Couldn’t do this then.” He brushed his fingers through her hair again. “Why?”

She sniffed. “Uh, your hand was in a cast.”

“I went in ahead of the SWAT team.”

A laugh bubbled to the surface. “Yes.”

“You were _very_ angry,” he recalled. “I had to take you to Mexico to make it up to you.”

Shaking her head, she laughed again and said, “That’s not how I remember it.”

He seemed to consider the comment and conceded it with a side to side tilt of his head. “I might have remembered that wrong.”

The reminder, though playful in tone, found her lips on his again, this time without hesitation. That, too -her focus, her intent, her single-mindedness- was all too wonderfully familiar. 

“Doc said this could happen. Scraps at a time.” The words were pressed between their lips.

“I don’t care,” she answered, her hand gripping his short hair. “I don’t care. If we have to start from the very beginning, I don’t care.” Her eyes closed at hearing her own conviction.

“Hey. Look at me.” Brown eyes slowly revealed themselves. “Special Agent Jethro Gibbs.”

It took her a second to understand, but when she did, she cleared her throat, sat up straight and held out her hand. “Special Agent Jacqueline Sloane.”

Her faux-seriousness brought his mouth to her neck in retaliation. “Oh, I know who you are. I’m learnin’, anyway.”

…..

The Army flag got hung up the next day and he didn’t even care.

…..

-end

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was built around a single line: "You remember all of that, but you don’t remember how much I love you.”


End file.
